


Distant Embraces

by americanwriter



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: 2x22, A little bit of fluff, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Oneshot, Shaw's POV, hotel room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2019-01-04 05:51:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12162795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/americanwriter/pseuds/americanwriter
Summary: You pushed the hacker towards the elevator, maybe a little too hard and a little too close to the arm you put a hole through an hour ago... but she remained silent.





	Distant Embraces

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in 2x22, between the incident at Hanford and Root's referral to the mental hospital. I felt like there was a gap to fill since there was a time leap between the happenings and locations that seemed very inviting for a little Shoot interlude...

_A knock at the hotel room door wakes you up from a short but powerful rest. It's warm, you hear John's voice through the wood panels, telling you the plane is leaving in little over an hour and that the both of you need to hurry._

_Both of you._

_When you realize you're still lying on the bed, you freeze. You're supposed to be on the couch. It's not necessary to open your eyes to know that you're spooning nobody else but Root, yet you do. Morning light flooded the room already. Bright, golden, but still kind of pale. It makes the room look different._

_It takes you a few seconds to remember how you got here._

***

The Machine was gone.

Not technically - physically. At the moment, it wasn't tangible anymore... if it ever really had been. All you figured was that it once had been there, then removed, relocated itself to a place nobody knew so far. The underground hangar was all empty. Cold, gray and void; bundles of cables still lying on the concrete floor. A sign, a last evidence for the servers had been here at all. 

It was already 10 p.m. by the time you finally arrived in Pasco. A small town with a small hotel – a hotel with vacant rooms. The question who would be responsible for _her_ until the next morning had never been asked. It lingered around the hotel lobby, invisibly hovering, overwhelming the small, tired group of four. You knew that you'd pull the shortest match as soon as Harold started fumbling in the pocket of his coat, pulling out the little box. Fate didn't mean any good for you lately... at least not when it came to encounters with than woman.  
You just rolled your eyes, you didn't say anything, grabbed the bags, then snatched the key card from Reese's hand. He'd probably been smirking if it wasn't so much of a dead serious situation. You pushed the hacker towards the elevator, maybe a little too hard and a little too close to the arm you put a hole through an hour ago... but she remained silent.

_Thank God she did._

It took over a damn hour to have her take a shower, to properly treat the gunshot wound and try to force her to eat at least a few bites of the food you ordered while she was in the bathroom. You gave in because you didn't care, but you know what even mild dehydration does to the human body, so you slightly pushed your thumb over the stitches when she refused to drink the water from the mini-bar at first. Seeing how bringing up a little more pain worked so well satisfied you. 

You embedded her arm into a sling, to keep it still, and decided not to give her any painkillers. If you did, she might have been able to use that arm for an escape attempt. Residency had you know the chances were near zero when not giving any. As soon as her right wrist was handcuffed to the bed frame, you start to relax. 

You double checked for any sharp objects in the room and took the gun with you to the bathroom. It takes over half an hour to wash off the stress, the sweat, the pain of today. Maybe she did the same. You were too tired to blow dry your hair, you just put it into a loose ponytail, turned off all the lights and fell onto the couch.  
Not an optimal way to recover from a mission and a few hours of flight, but from a technical view, there is no safe way to tie that psychopath to the sofa, not to mention any reasonableness. From a moral point of view, it was only humane to let her rest properly. Harold would want it to be this way, always being too polite for this cruel world. You weren't sure about his plans for Root, for New York City. Whatever it would be – it probably was less comfortable than a night in a hotel bed.

***

_02:37 a.m._  
The old video system and its bright red digital clock is the first thing you see when you open your sore eyes. One of the couches box springs painfully pushed into your side while you slept and the sobbing from the bedroom drives you crazy the second you hear it. You turn around, cover your ears with one of the pillows and doze off again.

_02:45 a.m._  
The digital clock reminds you of The Machine, at least of what you had seen on the computer screen every now and then. Numbers, pictures. Red, white, black and gray.  


_02:59 a.m._  
Half asleep you grab the gun from the coffee table.  
You get up and scuffle to the bedroom.  
The black duffel bag with the medical supplies is still waiting next to the bed. You draw up some pain medication into a syringe. Unfortunately, there aren't any narcotics in there... she certainly wasn't the only person in this hotel room who could need some right now.

If there was one thing you were neither able, nor willing to understand - especially not at three in the morning - then it was how somebody was crying over a god damn computer that wasn't even destroyed, just relocated, and that wasn't even their own but someone else's work... and property. Her face is wet with tears, her eyes two watery mirrors. She looks thinner than usual - powerless, in pain, lonely. Yet you press the gun against her temple. The room becomes silent for exactly three seconds as soon as the cold metal touches her skin. Before you can take a breath of relief the sobbing returns. You can't help but push the needle into the soft of her neck, ungently. 

“You have two minutes to calm down and shut up or I will shoot you – properly.”  
Whenever you weren't getting enough sleep, it was best not to tangle with you. It was best _never_ to tangle with you _at all_ , yet she already did, in another hotel room, with a taser and a hot iron. Shooting her had been a nice little revenge, not much and definitely not decent... but you were too tired, not in the mood for any more vengeance right now. Taking away her God from her finished her off for now, it seemed.  
You sit down on the bed, behind her. The gun doesn't leave its position, it only shifts its angle, pushes a little harder against the skin and bone. You can feel her body trembling against your arm. Somewhere in your empty and tired mind, a spark of emotion ascends. You can't classify it and before you even try to, it burns out, just as fast as it arose, leaving nothing but a familiar numbness.

“One minute left.” 

Fatigue grows, it's in your muscles, in your limbs, crawling into your thoughts. Your sight becomes blurry if you don't concentrate. Your free hand finds the bedspread, you cover your legs. It's cold in Washington. And it's just for the remaining 43 seconds. You fall back, lie down on the mattress and lean on your right elbow, making sure the weapon still touches her, but you lower it to her jawline. A slight wave of pain travels down your spine; a stinging sensation here and there, the good and homely pain of laying down and relaxing after all. 

With the video system out of sight, you don't know how late it is when you wake up again. It's still dark in the hotel room, so you don't even bother to open your eyes. The two minutes must have passed. It's all silent, finally Root had slipped into the world of dreams. Finally... finally you can return to the couch. Just one more minute, it's so cozy and warm here. Your mind drifts off into sleep mode again.

Rolling further to your right side, you notice a light scent of shampoo. You don't remember your hair to smell so powdery. It's a lovely scent. It reminds you of something beautiful. You move your fingers, assuring the gun is still in your hand.

Just a few more minutes.  
It's all good.

***

_Your face is buried in the hacker's hair, your left arm wrapped tightly around her waist; the weapon still in your hand, still pointing to her jawline, only from below. You slowly lean on your right elbow before you decide it's best not to move another millimeter. There should be a way to leave the bed unnoticed._

_She blinks and moves, she probably heard the knock, felt your subtle movements._

_Too late._

_She gently turns as far her right am, still handcuffed to the bed, and the gun wound in her other arm allow. The weapon quickly moves up again, pushing under her chin, harder than necessary, to prevent her from seizing the moment and doing anything stupid._

_Your eyes meet.  
Whenever she breathes in, the soft skin above her sternum touches your forearm. There it is, the same warmth you've mistakenly enjoyed a moment ago._

_Her gaze is tired and broken, yours fills with anger.  
A hint of a smile crawls onto her lips. She's worn out... but she's back._

_You silently die on the inside._


End file.
